


Luck and Intuition

by MsBluesunflower



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Russian Roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBluesunflower/pseuds/MsBluesunflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I lose, you get to kill me and finish your mission. If I win, you stay with me and let me help you.”<br/>Steve Rogers was the worst and best gambler.</p><p>Or, in which Bucky found Steve, and they played a round of Russian Roulette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck and Intuition

**Author's Note:**

> миссия: Russian for Mission.  
> Title inspired the lyrics of Poker face by Lady Gaga  
> POVs from both Steve and Bucky.  
> Enjoy :)

“Nat, I know he’s still out there.” Steve sighed and hung up his phone. He was holding two grocery bags with one hand and searching for his keys in his pocket with the other.

He moved back to Brooklyn after the helicarrier incident. The apartment he and Bucky used to share was no longer there. Shield bought him one nearby, under the condition that once he found the Winter Soldier they must be informed immediately.

He had to say yes.

Natasha pulled some strings and had been doing everything she could to track down Bucky. With the remains of Hydra falling like dominos, it’s been even harder to find any trace of him. Even Natasha seemed to be giving up.

So when he opened the door and flicked on the light switch, nothing prepared him for seeing Bucky standing in a dark corner of his living room, a glass of vodka in his hand.

“Bucky…” Steve murmured, frozen on the spot, not knowing what to do.

He thought about a hundred different ways to track him down, a thousand different places to go and try his luck. He never thought about what would happen when he finally got him back, in front of his eyes, cold and foreign.

The Winter Soldier didn’t hear him. His eyes stare into the void, his lips moving on its own accord, whispering Russian that Steve couldn’t understand.

He caught the word “миссия”, it sounded familiar and he didn’t know why.

 

The target rushed to his side and threw his arms around him, as if he didn’t know he was embracing a killing machine.

He refused to surrender to it, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. The target had strong arms. He smelled of shampoo, laundry soap, coffee and sunshine, a scent that was somewhat relaxing. More importantly he was warm.

Almost warm enough to melt ice.

“You found me…I wasn’t expecting you to…” the target swallowed, “…remember.”

The word sent shivers down his spine and woke him from the moment of self-indulgence. He doesn’t _remember_ , even after seeing his face in the museum video footage, looking at Captain America with adoration-filled eyes, laughing alongside him; even after wandering down the streets of New York City, finding his way to this particular neighborhood with only intuition; even after feeling like he was home, wrapped in his target’s embrace.

He remembered nothing. The so-called memories were fleeting like ghosts from the past, haunting him relentlessly. He’d had enough.

He pushed him away, hard and violent, like how he was supposed to.

 

“Sorry, Bucky. I should’ve asked before I did that.” Steve apologized hastily, “Do you need anything? I can clean up the guest room and get you some clothes. Or are you hungry?”

He cursed himself for being completely illogical and making absolutely no sense. In front of Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers would always be the skinny, awkward Brooklyn boy.

“That’s not why I’m here.” Bucky, no, the Winter Soldier spoke, voice cold and empty. It quenched that flame of hope. “You’re my mission.”

“Look, Buck…”

“Stop calling me that.” He shouted, “I’m not him. I’m not your loyal sidekick who was willing to do anything for the great Captain America. I’m not a hero. Stop trying to make me someone who died in fucking 1944.”

“You went to the museum.” It wasn’t a question.

The Winter Soldier raised his left arm, a metal fist pounded into the wall.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he said his name like it was a prayer, something unchangeable and eternal, “I don’t give a damn about what you are. You pulled me out of the water because you have saved me for God knows how many times. You knew me because seventy years ago you were my entire world. You will not kill me.”

 

“You will not kill me.” The target had said, determined and dangerous, his eyes blue like a ocean he could drown in.

The Winter Soldier treated missions like a daily routine, nothing personal. They were simply something to be done, before he was wiped and put on ice again. Yet this target, this man he used to know, brought out so much more in him. He felt like his gut was clenching, his heart was beating so fast that it might burst out of his chest, and his mind, what used to be so blank and focused, became a tangled mess of thoughts and fleeting memories.

Maybe that’s what they called “feelings”.

It triggered the something in him, something dark and incontrollable that might be identified as anger.

He lunged for his target. His metal arm wasn’t working all that great after months of drifting across the country, but shieldless Captain America in plain civilian clothes wasn't hard to fight.

Especially if he didn’t fight back at all.

Seconds later he had Captain America pinned on the floor, his body pressing hard against his, his cold metal fingers tight around his throat, knowing that one more squeeze and this superhero would simply become one more name crossed off on his mission list. The coffee table was knocked over, the vodka glass shattered on the wooden floor. The air smelled of a mixture of sweat, heat, alcohol, tension and inexplicable emotions. His anger was no less than before, when he saw the confidence and calm on his target’s fucking gorgeous face. It seemed almost threatening.

“I won’t fight you, Buck.” He choked out.

“I could snap your neck in a heartbeat.” He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress that voice in his head that told him to let go.

“If you wanted to kill me, I would’ve died a hundred times since I stepped through the door. I’m a mission you don’t want to finish.”

He hated the target more knowing that he was right.

 

Steve let the solid punches land on his cheeks repeatedly, just like the day on the helicarrier. His vision was blurred. All he could see his best friend’s eyes, used to be warm and playful, now divulged the hurt and confusion in his broken soul.

“Tell me, Buck,” He breathed heavily, the pain grew numb and he barely felt it any more, “What would it take for you to give us a chance?”

The fist stopped midair.

“I don’t believe in chance, _Captain_.” The Winter Soldier stood, scoffing darkly, “You tell me, how much are you willing to give in exchange for a dead man?”

Steve struggled to get up, but he stood right in front of him, looking at him straight in the eye.

“Everything.” He sighed, like a solemn vow.

 

The target met his eyes. They were blue, warm even in this moment of life and death, speaking of redemption and rescue.

 _Us_.

That word didn’t belong to him. He was the Winter Soldier. He didn’t need an “us”. He didn’t need a place next to anyone, especially not the man symbolizing righteousness and heroism.

There were many things that the Winter Soldier didn’t understand, love was one of them. And he couldn’t endure his inability to comprehend.

He pulled out an old .44 magnum revolver from the inside of his jacket, the only weapon he kept after the day on the helicarrier. For a second he regretted throwing away his ammunition, yet deep down he knew it wasn’t weapon that he needed, it was will.

That mere thought drove him mad.

“You think I can’t kill you? Prove it. Fight me.” He challenged the target, voice loud and almost a little shaky. Every fiber of his being was convinced that he was doomed to lose before the fight would even start.

The target stared at him, at the cold barrel pointing straight at his forehead. He shook his head.

For once, the Winter Soldier had no idea what to expect.

 

“I have a better idea. Ever heard of Russian Roulette?” When the Winter Soldier pointed the gun at his head, Steve asked casually. He didn’t know what prompted this, something so risky and reckless and definitely not his forte. He knew him long enough to see Bucky was at loss. Steve could snatch the gun out of his grip and turn the tables on him if he’d wished to. But there was a part of him, a part of him craving to prove to Bucky what he was willing to give, to atone his guilt, to make up for the pain Bucky wouldn’t have suffered, had he not fallen off of the train.

Had Steve grabbed his hand, firm and steady, never letting go.

The Winter Soldier did not respond, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“If I lose, you get to kill me and finish your mission. If I win, you stay with me and let me help you.”

The Winter Soldier looked at him like he was the craziest person alive.

Steve smiled, involuntarily, as if he just heard a voice saying,

“You crazy punk.”

 

The target smiled, so goddamn sure that he would win.

He detested this idea. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but he was certain it wasn’t because of that confident smile on his face. Nor was it because of his 1/6 chance of wining. In fact, he wanted his chance of winning to be a hundred times smaller than that, he wanted himself not to win at all. He experienced a sudden urge to slap that stupid face, pour a bucket of cold water down his body and wake him up.

Any urge that didn’t involve killing was upsetting. This particular one was childish, far too human for him and therefore degrading.

He hated himself a little bit more when he didn’t say anything to oppose.

“You really do have faith in him, don’t you?”

 

Steve watched the Winter Soldier unload five of the six bullets, his movements unusually slow and careful, betraying his mind.

He wasn’t just betting on that 5/6 possibility, even though he’d been through situations where he stood the slightest chance of surviving. He was betting on something greater, something more important than his own life.

He was more than certain that Bucky Barnes was still in there, in that body covered in bruises and scars, sleeping, waiting to be found. When Bucky was imprisoned in the Hydra base, when he was torn and broken that the only thing he knew was his name and number, Steve managed to get him back. And he would do that again, a thousand times over. He had always been willing to take a chance, against Hydra, against Shield, against time and fate and suffering, to bet that this stupid, brutal world would never have the power to tear them apart.

Bucky was right. Steve had faith in him, then and now.

He closed his eyes.

 

His metal thumb flicked the cylinder, setting off a fast spin. His index finger curled around the trigger, the barrel pointing at the man standing calmly before him.

The spin stopped, the safety clicked.

The target's eyes were unfaltering.

“There's no turning back, Rogers.” The Winter Soldier warned, as if he was hoping for him to get scared and surrender.

It was the first time he’d called him that, and that was when it hit him hard.

The memories came like a flood on a barren land that'd been in drought for far too long. They were broken pieces, but the sensations and feelings were too real to be ignored.

_He was in an older version of Brooklyn. In the dark corner of an alley, he easily kicked the bully's ass and put an arm around a shorter, weaker Steve Rogers._

_Then the December wind was seeping into his veins. He gently wrapped a fuzzy blanket around Steve and held him close, praying for the deadly coughs to cease torturing his best friend.._

_He was in a noisy crowd, surrounded by pretty girls, when he could barely suppress the urge to ask his best friend for a dance._

_The scene flashed and he was grinning like an idiot in front of Steve, his longing gaze darting toward his lips. His best friend had the warmest blue eyes, a smile like the morning sun, and he was willing to fall like Icarus if he could claim that sun for his own._

_Later, Steve was laughing with Peggy Carter. The serum made him a ladies' man, whether or not Steve had wanted it. He felt the green-eyed monster growing in his heart, threatening to break free._

_It was a cold winter night in Belgium. They were together in a narrow bed, bodies tangled, sweat dripping, hot breath against each other’s skin. “I love you.” Steve murmured, lips pressed to his neck. He was done for, and he saw the magnificent Coney Island fireworks bursting before his eyes._

_“Till the end of the line.” He had said, hand on that frail shoulder, right outside his door, for the world to hear._

_Then there was endless snow, and an endless fall. The last thing he saw was the pain in those blue eyes and that smile nowhere to be found._

He was James Buchanan Barnes. He was _his_ Bucky.

The trigger burned like it could melt the metal. He closed his finger around it, determined.

The gun went off.

 

When Steve opened his eyes, there was a bullet hole through his wall. There was a playful smirk ghosting on Bucky’s lips, seventy years suddenly seemed like a day.

Steve Rogers was the worst and best gambler. He lost the bet he had a 5/6 chance to win, he won the one where he had almost none.

Tears were streaming down his face when he heard his lover’s voice, laced with familiar affection.

“I told you, Rogers, don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to use Russian Roulette in a fic and I finally got the chance!  
> Anyway, thank you for reading. Comments are always welcomed :)


End file.
